Not Exactly Mozart
by rainbowMonstrosity
Summary: Edward is a small time musician working gigs at local restaurants, clubs, and cafes (with some barista-ing on the side) to make ends meet since he refuses to go to college like his golden-boy brother did. One night while he's trying to get a few hours of beauty sleep, his new neighbor decides to torture him with some terrible piano playing. All Ed wants to do is shut him up.


**Un-beta'd**

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><p>It was roughly half past midnight when Edward awoke from a fairly peaceful slumber—one of the few that he'd had in the past week—to the sound of a piano being played. It was fairly quiet, even through the paper-thin walls that separated his two-bedroom apartment from the one next door, and for the first several minutes, the only notes produced were gentle and rolling. They were soft and light, like a lullaby played on the top octave of a keyboard. Though Edward was sure he'd never heard the tune before, it carried a strange sense of familiarity that piano music always did, stirring a sort of indescribable contentedness within him. He hadn't woken up completely, and for several long minutes it seemed like he'd be able to slip back under the veil of unconsciousness without any problem at all. As the soft music faded out, Edward let himself do the same, letting the sweet bliss of sleep overtake him. He was almost there...so close...<p>

_**BOOMMMMM**_

His golden eyes shot open and he sat up so quickly that he was momentarily light-headed. What the hell was that sound? He looked at the wall behind the headboard of his bed, as if daring it to offer an explanation for the brutal noise coming from the other side of it. The sound of an unorganized keyboard smash still reverberated through its surface. Edward blinked, as if trying to wake himself up from what he was sure had to be a dream. There was no way that someone could go from such a sweet, innocent melody, to...something like _that_.

Surely enough, however, the..."music" picked up after that, lower by several octaves and far harsher than before. Edward grimaced as the player continued. He wouldn't have thought that a pianist could _ever_ be that clumsy, not to mention careless! He seemed to trip over his own fingers every other phrase, pressed too heavily on all the wrong keys, and didn't seem to have any awareness of his time signature! Who the hell was this guy?

Edward could only stand to listen for about a minute longer before deciding that it wasn't worth the trauma. Staggering, he backed out of his bedroom and wandered down the hall into the living area, where his brother was still awake and working on some project on his shiny silver laptop.

Alphonse was a writer for some Veterinary Magazine that Ed didn't know much about, and Edward recalled hearing about a deadline coming up soon over dinner that night; some research article about vegan pet food. Alphonse had probably been working for as long as Ed had been asleep, but he still seemed just as bright-eyed and cheery as he always did. He flashed his brother a smile as he entered, closing his laptop.

"Hey, Brother. What are you doing up?" He stood up, collecting his coffee mug and a small plate littered with crumbs before walking over to the small kitchen. Edward scowled.

"The bastard next door woke me," he grumbled irritably. "Doesn't he realize what time it is? I've got things to do tomorrow, and I don't need his crappy performance keeping me up." He followed his brother into the kitchen, lifting himself up to sit on the counter.

"Performance?" Alphonse questioned, sounding confused. His expression quickly changed to one of disgust. "Ew, Brother! You weren't listening to—_that,_ were you?" Edward flushed, swatting at his younger brother's head with his left hand.

"No, that's not what he was doing," he retorted. "I think I'd prefer that, though, compared to his god-awful piano skills." He leaned against the refrigerator to his right. "At least then I'd have something to make fun of him with; I don't imagine he's very good with his hands, if his piano playing is any indication." If he'd been in a better mood, he might've smirked at his own joke.

"Is he really that bad?" Alphonse questioned, pouring himself a new cup of coffee.

"Yes!" Ed hissed, letting every ounce of contempt he felt for their neighbor seep into his words. "My right hand is literally made of metal and I'm a better player than he is. And it's—" he glanced over at the clock display on the oven, "—almost one in the god damn morning! I'm about to go over there and tell that bastard what's what, and _then_ I'll show him what a real pianist sounds like!" He popped the knuckles of his flesh left hand and resisted the urge to do the same to his right, knowing that the action was pointless. That was one of the peskier habits he'd had to break after gaining a limb made from steel; that, and biting his nails. Alphonse still wouldn't let him forget the time he'd chipped a tooth on one of his shiny new metal fingers shortly after his mastery of the finer motor functions, just when the limb was beginning to feel like a natural part of his body. Gah, memories.

"Well," Alphonse said, stirring cream into his coffee with a tiny metal spoon that looked miniscule in his too large hands. "I can move to my room for work if you want to sleep out on the couch. I'd really rather you not go knocking down people's doors in the middle of the night, or causing a disturbance with your lame excuse for an 'inside voice'." He sipped at his coffee, making a noise of approval before moving on to pull out two slices of bread from the bag on the counter and popping them into the toaster.

Ed felt a vein twitch in his forehead. "Shut up!" he snapped just a little too loudly. Alphonse smirked, and Ed could feel the blood rise to the tips of his ears. "Whatever! And I wasn't planning to bust down any doors. I was gonna knock _politely._" He pulled his legs up onto the counter to sit with them crossed.

"Sure you were," Alphonse scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the counter. "Even so, my second point still stands. Additionally, I really don't have the cash right now to bail you out of jail when you go off on the guy and he presses assault charges on you."

"Hey! I haven't been in an actual fight in-" Edward paused to think, "-almost seven months! Have a little faith, little brother." Jumping off the counter, the older of the two stretched his arms above his head, letting out a huge yawn. Alphonse's toast popped out of the toaster then, and the younger brother began doctoring it with butter as Edward sauntered dramatically towards the kitchen's entrance.

"But yeah, I'm not sleeping on the couch," he said. "I'll just bang on the wall and tell him to keep it down. If he doesn't listen, that's his own problem and I can't be held responsible for what I might do after that. But I'll give the asshole a chance. 'Night, Al." He managed a lazy wave as he exited, already feeling sleep begin to ebb at his mind once again.

"'Night, Ed," Alphonse responded, watching his brother's retreating back. About thirty seconds passed and Alphonse began to gather up his snack and coffee to get back to work. He was halfway to sitting down when he heard three consecutive _BANG_s on the plaster of Edward's bedroom wall. _Oh, Ed. Some things never—_

Alphonse paused as three, much more muffled noises reverberated down the hall. Huh? He frowned in the direction of the sound, confused, until he heard Edward practically screech, "_Who the hell are you?!_" This was followed by the thudding of mismatched footsteps as Ed practically flew down the hallway, past where Alphonse was situated on the couch, and directly out the front door of their apartment. Alphonse sighed.

_Oh, Ed. Some things never change._

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><p><strong>Hey guys I'm back. What's up?<strong>


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